


Mon âme se repose en paix

by orphan_account



Series: Here we are but straying pilgrims [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha!John, Discussion of Pregnancy, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Omega!Sherlock, Omegaverse, Possible Mpreg, discussion of past miscarriage, non-neurotypical Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8204318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Are you sick?” John asked, shuffling a little bit closer to Sherlock. “You--oh. Oh,” he finished, suddenly understanding.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic begins about two weeks after the events of For the facing of this hour.

“John.”

 

“Mm?” John rolled over to face Sherlock, smiling at what he saw illuminated in the early morning sunlight: his omega had bundled himself in the blankets so tightly that he resembled a burrito. Or maybe a very fluffy caterpillar.

 

“John, it hurts,” Sherlock groaned.

 

“Are you sick?” John asked, shuffling a little bit closer to Sherlock. “You--oh. Oh,” he finished, suddenly understanding.

 

“John.”

 

“I didn’t--I didn’t think it would happen this month,” John said. “Not after the--not after what happened two weeks ago. It’s so soon.”

 

“John, make it stop. I hate this,” Sherlock grumbled.

 

“I know we agreed earlier to try again, but I don’t want to just--Sherlock, are you sure?” John asked, resisting the urge to peel Sherlock out of the blankets and see what he was (likely not) wearing.

 

“I’m--I dont--,” Sherlock frowned, blew out a measured breath.

 

John waited.

 

“I don’t want to--I don’t want _that_ again,” Sherlock decided. “But--we said. We said one. If we’re having one, I want to do it when it’s less risky. And that means soon. So this is me saying yes.”

 

“You have got to be the only omega in the world who doesn’t enjoy heats,” John said, twisting one of Sherlock’s curls around a finger. “I know what we said, but I don’t want to do something you won’t like.”

 

“Then do it quickly.”

 

At this, John laughed.

 

“Seriously Sherlock, I don’t want to, I don’t know, traumatise you or something,” John protested, but his mind was already made up.

 

“I said yes already, and I know that after... _after_ , I won’t hurt anymore. I want to hurry up and get to the not hurting part already. That’s the best I can do,” Sherlock grumbled. “And don’t act like you’re not abnormal too. Any other alpha in bed with a naked omega in...well, _this_ , would not be having this conversation, they’d be--”

 

“Shush, you,” John interrupted, grabbing for the free edge of the blanket. “I don’t know why I bother trying to argue with you.”

 

“Me neither,” Sherlock said, and smirked.

 

\---

 

“Is this--”

 

“Ah--it’s a little too--”

 

“I won’t move yet, does that help?”

 

\--

 

“Ow! Get off my hair!”

 

“Sorry, sorry!”

\--

 

“...better?”

 

“Hm. Yes. That’s--yes.”

 

\--

 

“You are repulsive.”

 

“Mmmf. Don’t care. Want to sleep.”

 

“No, you’re taking a bath. You’re seriously disgusting.”

 

“Whose fault is that, Doctor Watson?”

 

“Oh, I take full responsibility for my actions. And for anything that might come of them. You know that, right? I’ve got you. You won’t be on your own. I’m with you the whole way.”

  
“...I believe I was promised a bath.”


	2. one small mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have tried again after the miscarriage, and Sherlock finds that waiting for information is still not his strong suit.

Sherlock promised himself that it would be different this month. He refused to buy any tests early, refused to allow himself to contemplate the biochemical processes that may or may not already have been happening.

 

He didn’t count any months, nor did he think about what the weather would be like an unspecified number of months from now.

 

“Are you sure?” John had asked when he had brought it up, and Sherlock had nodded emphatically, trying to sound more sure than he felt. Trying to convince himself along with John.

 

“Yes. If we’re doing this, let’s do it already, before I get too much older and it becomes even more dangerous than it already is,” he had insisted.

 

And it was (mostly) true, Sherlock mused. If they were going to do this, which as things stood currently, it seemed that they were, then Sherlock wanted to get it over with while he still had some hope of surviving the process with a fraction of his mind intact. Everyone talked about “omega brain” fondly, but the possibility of losing any of his memory, the foundation of his life’s work and personality, terrified Sherlock beyond all reason.

 

John had repeatedly assured him that it would never happen to him.

 

“Biologically speaking, it’s not a certainty,” he had argued. “It’s a result of them being the primary caregiver constantly after undergoing a physically depleting event and being denied sleep for upwards of a year. You know it won’t be like that for you,” John had said, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as they reclined on the sofa.

 

“You’ll want to get back to solving cases with the Yard, and I’ll take some time off from the surgery and stay home with it,” John had continued.

 

Sherlock must have looked unconvinced, because John had frowned.

 

“No. I know that’s not the usual alpha/omega thing but we’re not really the usual, are we? It’s all fine.” John smiled, intentionally echoing the words he had tried to reassure Sherlock with so long ago.

 

“Right. Of course, you’re--of course we’re not,” Sherlock had agreed vaguely.

 

Privately, he wasn’t so certain.

 

\--

 

He knew the waiting wasn’t the worst part.

 

Not by far.

 

The worst part was the chilled, heavy feeling in his stomach when he first saw the trickle of blood that meant something had gone wrong.

 

The waiting wasn’t the worst part. He tried to convince himself of it.

 

The worst part was when the waiting shifted from plain impatience to Suddenly Too Much, and he was too exhausted from trying to force his attention away from worrying to be able to reason himself out of having a meltdown.

 

No, the waiting was not the worst part.

 

The worst part was the ragged feeling as the meltdown trickled to an end, slowly fizzling out as if it didn’t want to release him from its grip quite yet.

 

The waiting was not the worst part, not by far.

 

He was almost convinced of it.

  


\--

 

“I guess it’s too soon for these to mean anything,” Sherlock said, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He took his hand out of the pocket of his oldest, softest dressing gown and poked at the still-swollen skin around his right nupple.

 

“Yeah. They’re basically left over from last time,” John said, glancing over at Sherlock from where he sat on the side of the tub. “It’s pretty variable how long they can last...” he trailed off, distracted by Sherlock’s continued poking and prodding at the area.

 

Then Sherlock caught his eye in the mirror and grinned.

 

“Oi! Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Lestrade for a case? Why are you tormenting me with your weird biology?”

 

“My biology is not weird,” Sherlock pouted. “Inconvenient. Oppressive. But standard for my gender.” He stopped the poking nevertheless, and reached for the pair of pants hanging on the doorknob. “And no, I do not have a case. I don’t want to run the risk of Lestrade figuring out what happened, or what might be happening.” He glanced downwards towards his belly briefly in a nearly unconscious gesture.

 

“There’s no way he could tell this early,” John said.

 

“But in case he can,” Sherlock began.

 

“We’ve had this conversation every time he calls you out for a case, love,” John said. “It’s fine if you don’t want to go. But medically speaking, there is no way he could possibly know.”

 

Sherlock looked away.

 

“Is...is this about something else?” John asked.

 

“I’m going to get fat, and everyone will _know_ ,” Sherlock muttered.

 

“Oh, love.”

 

\--

 

Twenty-six hours left.

 

\--

 

Six hours left. Sherlock turned his phone off and set it on his bedside table, then pulled the duvet over his head.

 

\--

 

Sherlock stared at the row of tests on the bathroom counter. Three single purple lines stared back at him indifferently. He waited a full three minutes, then released a measured breath, dumped the tests in the trash, and opened the bathroom door.

 

“Well?” John asked, watching Sherlock from his seat at the kitchen table.

 

Sherlock closed the bathroom door softly and padded to the kitchen. “Why do you look so happy?” He asked, not bothering to keep the resentment out of his voice.

 

“You know why,” John said with a grin. “You’ve been so...sensitive.” He waved at the still-swollen buds of Sherlock’s chest.

 

“Well, it’s nothing, so.” Sherlock crossed his arms across his chest, then winced.

 

“What?” John’s smile began to fade.

 

“Nothing. Not pregnant,” Sherlock repeated, swallowing. His throat felt oddly rough, and he found he no longer wanted to look John in the eye.

 

“Oh.” He could hear the disappointment in John’s voice, but Sherlock didn’t move. He stood frozen just outside of the bathroom door for a moment, listening as John sighed heavily.

 

“I’m...I’m going to go take a nap,” Sherlock decided eventually. He didn’t wait for an answer from John- what could the alpha possibly say? This should have been impossible. John was _John_ , and therefore for this….for them to have failed, there must be something wrong with the other end of the equation. With Sherlock.

 

The bed was in the state they had left it after waking; the sheets were rumpled and the duvet and Sherlock’s extra blanket were jumbled together in the middle of the bed.

 

Sherlock folded himself into the heavy blankets and let his head drop on the the pillow.

 

One small mercy for the day: he fell asleep quickly and did not dream.

 

\--

 

“Hey.” Sherlock opened one eye groggily at the sound of John’s voice and John’s hand in his hair. “I think you should get up and eat something. It’s been nine hours. You’ve now slept more today than you sometimes do in a week.”

 

Sherlock pushed the duvet down enough to allow himself to sit up, noticing as he did that at some point John must have added the heavy quilt that was folded around his legs.

 

“What did you make?” For once, Sherlock didn’t bother to argue about food--he found that he was actually hungry.

 

“Sandwich,” John said, pushing a plate into his hands. “At least half of it, please.”

 

“Why are you being so nice about this?” Sherlock grumbled, but he accepted the sandwich.

 

“What are you talking about?” He didn’t look John in the eyes, instead focused on the bits of pickle poking out of the side of the sandwich.

 

Sherlock carefully finished exactly half of the sandwich, then set the plate with the rest of it on the bedside table.

 

In response, John rolled his eyes and pulled up the corner of the duvet.

 

“Shove over,” John said, sliding under the covers and wrapping himself around Sherlock, pressing the omega’s face into his shoulder. “Just let me do this,” he said quietly when Sherlock started to voice a protest. “Just….let me, for a minute. I need this, even if you don’t. I know you’ll say you don’t, so shush. It’s okay if you do, though. You’re allowed.”

 

“Mmf,” Sherlock began to protest, but he let himself relax into John’s warm, comforting scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This one has a bit of a happier ending than Part 1 of this series. There might be a part 3. I'll keep yall posted on the blue hell, where I vagueblog and shitpost: apismel1fera.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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